“Ah! but I know it well enough; I’ve seen her riding past on her broomstick to her Witches’ Sabbath.” “You have seen her go by on her broomstick?” “As plainly as I see you, General; and more than that, she has an old black billy-goat at home that she worships.” “And why should she come and nightmare you?” “To revenge herself on me, because I came upon her once at midnight on the heath of Gondreville, when she was dancing round and round in her devil’s circle.” “This is a most serious accusation which you bring against her, my friend; and before repeating to anyone what you have been telling me in private, I think it would be as well if you tried to collect some more proofs.” “Proofs! What more proofs do I want! Does not every soul in the village know that in her youth she was the Mistress of Thibault, the wolf-leader?” “Indeed! I must look carefully into this matter, Mocquet.” “I am looking very carefully into it myself, and she shall pay for it, the old mole!” _Old mole_ was an expression that Mocquet had borrowed from his friend Pierre, the gardener, who, as he had no worse enemies to deal with than moles, gave the name of mole to everything and everybody that he particularly detested. V “I must look carefully into this matter”--these words were not said by my father by reason of any belief he had in the truth of Mocquet’s tale about his nightmare; and even the fact of the nightmare being admitted by him, he gave no credence to the idea that it was Mother Durand who had _nightmared_ the keeper. Far from it; but my father was not ignorant of the superstitions of the people, and he knew that belief in spells was still wide-spread among the peasantry in the country districts. He had heard of terrible acts of revenge carried out by the victims on some man or woman who they thought had bewitched them, in the belief that the charm would thus be broken; and Mocquet, while he stood denouncing Mother Durand to my father, had had such an accent of menace in his voice, and had given such a grip to his gun, that my father thought it wise to appear to agree with everything he said, in order to gain his confidence and so prevent him doing anything without first consulting him. So, thinking that he had so far gained an influence over Mocquet, my father ventured to say: “But before you make her pay for it, my good Mocquet, you ought to be quite sure that no one can cure you of your nightmare.” “No one can cure me, General,” replied Mocquet in a tone of conviction. “How! No one able to cure you?” “No one; I have tried the impossible.” “And how did you try?” “First of all, I drank a large bowl of hot wine before going to bed.” “And who recommended that remedy? was it Monsieur Lécosse?” Monsieur Lécosse was the doctor in repute at Villers-Cotterets. “Monsieur Lécosse?” exclaimed Mocquet. “No, indeed! What should he know about spells! By my faith, no! it was not Monsieur Lécosse.” “Who was it, then?” “It was the shepherd of Longpré.”